


Rub-A-Dub-Dub

by eastcoastlighthouse



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Bath Sex, Bubble Bath, Gender-neutral Reader, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through a series of implausible plot devices, you end up in a bathtub with Doofus Rick. You get a little clean, you get a little dirty, and you both have a great time. Shameless fluffy self-insert smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rub-A-Dub-Dub

Look, you knew it wasn’t the classiest of pastimes. Your friends’ interests included things like bouldering, knitting, and whisky tasting, but you chose to spend your downtime differently. And what of it? You weren’t hurting anyone, and by now you’d been doing it long enough that you liked to think of yourself as a true connoisseur. A connoisseur of Ricks.

You’d happened along Rickslist in the dumbest of ways. A Rick had picked you up in a bar (not that at the time you’d known he was _a_ Rick; he had just been a sleazy old man in a shitty leather jacket who’d bought you a few drinks and then put your hand on his crotch), you had taken him home, and after he’d shot his load all over your chest you had had a lovely postcoital conversation. He’d explained he was a guest in your dimension, that there were a lot of guys like him (but naturally they were all a lot less well-endowed and they all smelled worse), and that he’d been at the bar to meet a Sanchez chaser who had posted an ad on Rickslist. A Sanchez chaser -- that was how he’d put it. Like he was some kind of prize. Lucky for you, the stranger had apparently gotten cold feet, and this Rick Sanchez had immediately put Plan B into motion: plan B being bedding you.

He hadn’t stayed for breakfast, which was well enough, and you had put the encounter out of your mind until a few nights later. Three drinks in and horny as hell, you’d looked up this Rickslist website. For a laugh, you’d told yourself, but the next time you looked at the clock three hours had passed and you were up to your neck in R4A ads. There were some R4R ones too, but those all required photographic proof that you were a Rick (and you were decidedly, luckily, irrevocably not a Rick), and the R4M ads all seemed a little off. (One regular user kept posting the same ad in hysterical all caps: _POST-RICK STRESS DISORDER? I CAN HELP. DDLB OR SDSB._ )

But then there were those R4A ads.

You’d dived in head-first. Ricks, for all their faults (which you soon discovered), were not particularly picky, and it was remarkably easy to find one who was either willing to host ( _hmu if no portal gun_ ) or happy to portal to wherever you deigned to meet them: grimy motels, dingy bars, empty parking lots, your own home if they seemed slightly more trustworthy than the average Rick. You’d set a few rules for yourself: at least three friends needed to know where you were and who you were with; unless a Rick came across as not particularly creepy (an unsurprising rarity), you’d meet him in a public place, and most importantly, you never saw the same Rick twice. Things were great: a little dangerous, but very exciting, which was how you preferred your casual encounters anyway.

Or so you’d thought.

There were only so many times one could take part in a portal glory hole, only so many times one could put on a pink top and a red wig for some sweaty-faced Rick, only so many times one could end up bent over a pool table to take some monster cock up one’s ass. Ricks, you found, just wanted to fuck, and then fuck off. You weren’t one to judge, but it got a little repetitive, especially with how similar they all were in their appearance, their needs, and even their kinks. It was like fucking the same dude over and over again without the benefit of him learning what made _you_ tick.

You had started checking Rickslist less and less. Went on some real dates with real people who had real jobs. It was really only by chance that you checked the R4A page on that fateful evening. It had been more for old times’ sake than anything else, but in between all the _R4A KINKY SHIT W/ PORTAL GUN PICS FIRST_ and _nsa bj bein cool with incest fanatsy = plus_ there had been one ad that caught your eye.

_Looking for a special someone to pamper. Can host._

It was just so delightfully unlike any Rick you’d ever fucked. For a moment you had found it difficult to believe this was a Rick at all, but your curiosity had gotten the better of you and you responded anyway. The Rick had introduced himself as J19ζ7. He had a small apartment and really was just looking for someone to cuddle with. Most of the people who lived near him were Ricks, and he had been quick to explain he had zero interest in hanging out with another Rick. You had exchanged pictures, and although he looked different from any of the Ricks you’d met, he was unmistakably a Sanchez, just like you were unmistakably a Sanchez chaser. You’d set a date. That’s what he’d called it. _I’m looking forward to our date._ Even if your loins weren’t actually aquiver at the thought, you’d been a little endeared all the same.

Much like other Ricks you’d met up with, he portaled into your dimension to pick you up. Unlike other Ricks, he was exactly on time, and rather than just portaling into your living room, he entered your dimension on the sidewalk and rang your doorbell.

He was even more awkward than you’d been preparing yourself for. You were caught off guard -- your previous experiences with Ricks had been fairly straightforward and no-nonsense, but J19ζ7 had brought you flowers.

“Aren’t you hosting?” you asked, nonplussed. You stared at the bouquet of baby’s breath and honey flowers he’d thrust towards you, but accepted it anyway. “I didn’t get you anything. I hope that’s okay.”

“It-it seemed like the thing to, uh, to do,” Rick stammered, a little flustered.

You decided not to press the issue and put the flowers in a mug which would have to double as a vase until you got back. “I’m ready,” you said, and you noticed he was shaking a little -- magnanimously, you put a steadying hand on his arm. “I’m looking forward to our date too,” you said, giving him a crooked little smile that you hoped didn’t betray the serious second thoughts you were having about the whole thing.

He swallowed hard, but quickly produced a portal gun from the pocket of his coat anyway, and when you stepped through the portal, you found yourself in an apartment that was unexpectedly cozy. This Rick, it seemed, was a big fan of plants, and there were portraits of what you now knew to be Mortys lining the walls. They were invariably smiling, most of them standing next to J19ζ7, some with his hand on their shoulder, some with their arm slung around him. “I, uh, used to work at the Morty rehabilitation center,” Rick said by way of explanation.

“Cool,” you said, squinting a little suspiciously at the pictures.

He led you through the narrow little corridor that bisected his apartment. You peeked into his kitchen (tiny, but meticulously organized: no dishes in the sink), his living room (was that a boxset of _McLeod’s Daughters_?) and you finally passed his bedroom - a double bed taking up almost all the floor space. You slowed down, but Rick kept walking - whatever he had in mind apparently didn’t involve beds.

He stopped at the closed door at the end of the corridor. “Uh,” he began, staring at his feet, “would -- is it o-okay if I -- if we have a bath together?”

That came out of left field, and you nodded before you could process the request.

He seemed to deflate a little, but smiled at you all the same. He opened the door, letting you enter first, and you entered the bathroom. Light blue tiles, a deep bathtub, a pristine little sink, a medicine cabinet -- the whole thing oozed domestic charm, and you found yourself relaxing a little despite yourself. Months of messing around with Ricks had left you with very little shame, and when you noticed Rick had already run the bath for the two of you, you figured you might as well get to undressing. You were down to your underwear before Rick managed work up the courage to drop his own lab coat, and you decided to help him along a little, your fingers making quick work of his zipper.

He managed a muffled little sound that might have been a protest as you helped him pull his sweater over his head, but he didn’t stop you -- not even when you slid your hands under his wifebeater to help him shed that, too. His chest felt familiarly bony, but the way he gasped when your fingers brushed over his nipples wasn’t a reaction you’d ever managed to get from any Rick.

“C’mon,” you insisted, and you put his hands on your hips, guiding him to push down your underwear. He averted his eyes, but there was a little twitch at the corner of his mouth all the same. Before long, the two of you were left entirely naked, and he was the first to let himself sink into the tub - the bubble bath he’d run apparently an acceptable substitute to his clothing, as he seemed a great deal less awkward once his lower half was fully submerged. You joined him, the bathwater perfectly warm, the foam smelling pleasantly of blackberries and bergamot. “You sure you’re a Rick?” you asked, and it was meant to be a joke, but when his face fell you were quick to lean towards him and distract him from any crisis of identity you might inadvertently have provoked by pressing your lips to his.

The first surprise was that he didn’t pull away -- you were starting to suspect he might be an actual virgin, but at least he was quite happy to have you shove your tongue into his mouth. The second surprise was that his breath wasn’t at all terrible, as you’d come to expect from Ricks. He seemed to read your mind, and pulled back a little to murmur: “I brushed my teeth before, y’know.”

“Appreciated,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You could feel his hands -- trembling even now -- slide around your waist to pull you against his chest. Winding your arms around his neck, you decided to see how far you could go, catching his bottom lip between your teeth until he made a squeaking little sound that had you abandon the attempt to spice things up a little. “You do this often?” you asked, and you made a real effort not to drop your poker face at his admission that this was the first time he’d done anything of the sort.

It was strange to be with a body that felt so familiar -- hands similarly calloused, thighs similarly thin, arms similarly wiry -- but behaved so differently. You were used to being thrown around by Ricks, being manhandled, Ricks bending you into positions like you were a pipe cleaner. Not so with this one -- if he hadn’t been so fucking shy, you would’ve wondered if he liked you at all with his passive attitude. For now, you were happy to take the lead -- if only to watch him go a little cross-eyed with embarrassment every time you moaned into his mouth.

You had to be one step ahead of him every step of the way, but the gentle splashing of the water and the creamy foam caressing your skin made you a good deal more forgiving of Rick’s docility than you might otherwise have been. When you finally tired of the slow-paced make-out session, you pulled him towards you, all but submerging yourself in the water as you lay down and rested your head against the edge of the tub.

“Oh,” Rick managed, turning a particularly unflattering shade of red. “Are you-we -- I mean, are you sure?”

Figuring there was a time for words and a time for deeds, you slipped your fingers around his cock -- a little surprised to find it mostly flaccid -- and coaxed him towards you. He groaned, a sound that brought back memories of filthier, more forward Ricks, but took the hint and pressed his chest to yours, your foreheads touching. His breath was hot on your face, and he’d squeezed his eyes shut.

“We can’t,” he whispered, “with -- there’s no, uh -- n-no lubrication underwater, so i-it’d hurt, and, I mean--?”

“Get creative,” you sighed, and figured you’d set the right example by languidly jacking him off. He made a strained little noise, bracing himself on the edge of the tub as he shyly fucked into your hand. It had only been a few moments before you could feel him grow under your gentle ministrations, and then he caught your wrist, pulling you off of him.

“You first,” he panted, a great deal more worked up than anyone had any right to be from half a handjob. “It’s only fair.” You weren’t about to protest _that_ , and you lifted your legs, crossing your ankles behind his back, sinking a bit further into the faintly purple water. Your ears now submerged, you couldn’t really hear much except what you figured was your own blood rushing through your veins, and you blinked up at Rick, smiling encouragingly. He asked you something, and you simply nodded -- only to be rewarded with a shaky hand pressed against your crotch.

While inexperience and diffidence were written plainly on his flushed face, his fingers were surprisingly deft, and before long he had you arching up, your mouth dumbly hanging open. When a particularly successful stroke had you gasping, you realized just how closely he was paying attention to you -- his brow furrowed, he repeated the motion again and again, falling into a rhythm that was both comforting and fulfilling. Water threatened to flood your mouth as you sank deeper and deeper into the bath, but even when you put your entire weight on his neck, he continued his almost relentless attention to your crotch.

Being with Ricks had always meant a vague atmosphere of illicitness, of torrid sex that culminated in violent orgasms. It had never been like this, your climax sneaking up on you like a wave that suddenly crested, and the screaming and whimpering that usually signalled the end of your time with a Rick seemed inexcusably base so you just breathed in sharply and sighed, warmth flooding your body, your eyes drifting shut.

You became dimly aware of a pair of dry (but pleasantly unchapped) lips being pressed to your forehead, Rick trailing little kisses down your cheek and jawline as you came down. “Like that?” he asked, and you could only nod, because you _did_ like that, and you wanted _more_ like that. “I’m glad,” he whispered, and he pulled you towards him, letting you rest on his chest, his old man paunch a comfortable cushion, until the both of you were pruny and the water had gone tepid.

It was only after he’d dropped you off back home and you were brushing your teeth that you realized he hadn’t even gotten off -- but before you could text him, he got to you first with a simple _When can I see you again?_ that made your heart skip a beat.

 _Never see the same Rick twice._ Then again, wasn’t this Rick totally different from all the other ones?


End file.
